Page 61 of Hunter Moon

“I’ll call the second I hear anything. Let me know you’re okay, yeah?” There was a note of strain in his voice—he clearly thought I was off to some kind of pack altercation—but I wasn’t going to correct him to talk about information that was Brook’s alone.

Instead, I agreed, “Yessir,” and I hung up, heading for my car as I typed a quick response to Brook.

On my way.

* * *

It wasa minor miracle I didn’t get pulled over on my way to the Morgan house, but I didn’t. I pulled into the empty spot in front of the house ten minutes later, and froze when I saw Mrs. Morgan standing in the open front door.

Had she been expecting me? Had she seen me speeding down the street, and come out to tell me to get lost?

No. Rhonda Morgan would never do that, not when Brook had asked me to come. She was the kind of woman who let her anger be known, but she was never irrational about it. She would remind me of how I’d abandoned Brook forever, but only when it was just her and me. She’d never hurt Brook with it, not for anything.

Even as her oldest child, as the one who’d had to grow up too soon, Brook had always been her baby. Soft and sweet in a way his sisters had never been, he’d been the one she’d wanted to coddle, and she hated herself for leaning on him when his father died as much as I hated myself for abandoning him when I had to leave.

Only one of us had actually been an asshole who probably deserved a little punishment, but there was no logic in guilt.

I ducked my head as I approached the door. “Mrs. Morgan.”

She didn’t get out of the way, just stood there in front of me for a long, tense moment. “I’ve known you since you were born, Aspen Grove, you know that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“People used to joke about how your intentions are always good, but you manage to do just the wrong thing.” The determination in her voice was disconcerting, almost. It was more forceful than I’d ever heard her before. People talked about the Morgan family being made of steel, but they meant Brook, Shiloh, and Harmony. Rhonda Morgan had never shown me her steel spine before, and whether it was because she’d trusted me before, or because I’d seen her at her weakest as a new widow, I would never know.

“That does seem to be the consensus, ma’am,” I agreed, keeping my eyes down.

Yes, I am an alpha. Doesn’t mean that I got to be an asshole to the woman I wanted for a mother-in-law, whose baby boy I’d hurt.

“I’m a firm believer in the fact that people are allowed to make mistakes. To change when they realize they’ve done wrong. That most people deserve a second chance.” As she spoke, her voice didn’t soften. I was starting to think that maybe she was, in fact, going to turn me away, when she set her jaw and stared at me for a long moment.

“I don’t know that I deserve anything, Mrs. Morgan. It’s a loaded word, ‘deserve.’ I’m maybe not as big an ass as I’ve always acted.” I took a step forward, so I was right in front of her, ducking my head and shoulders so I didn’t completely tower over her. If I’d had my cover, it’d’ve been in my hands. “And I can tell you I’m sorry or I’ve changed, but that doesn’t fix a thing. And the truth is I’m not sure I have changed. All I’m sure of is that I’d rather die than hurt Brook again.”

She gave a sharp, decisive nod at that. “Good. Because if you hurt my baby again, Aspen Grove, I’m going to hurt you. And Harmony and Shiloh will help me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I agreed instantly. “But I’m going to make it up to them too. And you. I know what I did hurt all of you, and the fact that I didn’t mean to hurt you all doesn’t fix that I did.”

“Good.” She finally stepped back from the doorway. “You can start with this, today. And when Brook is feeling better, you can ask Rowan to give me his pie crust recipe.”

I grinned and ducked my head again. “Yes, ma’am.”

38

Brook

My heat ramped up and my attention narrowed to only my room—the folds of my messy blanket under my bare legs, the whirring fan over my head and the movement of air chafing my overheated, sensitive skin. My breathing was too loud. Even the sound of the air conditioner coming on—cranked a few degrees lower for my comfort—made me jump.

Then, there was a soft knock on the door, and the outside world came rushing back in.

“Yeah?” My voice ratcheted up two octaves. I swallowed hard, trying to relieve some of that tension, as the door swung open.

Aspen’s scent hit me like a wrecking ball—slamming into my chest and knocking every other sense out of the way until there was only him, standing in my door, smelling like pine trees and fresh air and freedom.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him, but I was already leaping off the bed. I threw myself into his arms, buried my nose in the curve of his shoulder and breathed him in deep.

Later, I’d be embarrassed to say that I acted like nothing so much as an eager dog trying to get a fresh smell of his favorite person the very second they returned from work. I pressed my nose against every part of him I could reach, my arms twining around his middle to hold him close.

Aspen, for his own part, let me, only laughing softly when my nose pressed into skin that was thin and sensitive.

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